


Let the story be told

by alinewrites



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, PGP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinewrites/pseuds/alinewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Gauda Prime<br/>Avon is safe.<br/>Someone is looking for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the story be told

My name is Kyla Virinn; I'm the last survivor of the Virinn family, one of the most powerful Alpha families on Earth.

You know my name, of course. I own and manage the most efficient computer company in the entire Republic. Wherever you go – Freedom City casinos, a small firm on Albian or the Republic Administration on Earth – you'll find me there. My computers, security systems, are everywhere. And I'm proud of that, although part of my success I can't claim as mine.

I started small, more than twenty years ago, working alone in a small hangar on Ursa Prime. The first computer I built was for a shop owner in town. With the money I bought second-hand components and started to work on a new computer, then another one. They say I have a gift – maybe I have. Maybe I just studied a lot and worked hard.

It was the aftermath of the Revolution, the troubled times of the purges and the public political trials that led to the execution or the imprisonment of so many Alpha dignitaries; those who'd held the fate of the universe in their greedy dirty paws. I didn’t care for that. If the victorious Rebels wanted to celebrate their triumph with a bloodbath, well, so be it. The Federation was in ruin, most of the firms had lost their top management; the time was right for people like me.

One day a man came to me, gaunt and pale and haunted-looking – although he hid it much better than the other ones who'd come before. He looked at me and his mouth twitched wearily.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I came across some of your computers in town," he said, looking at me with some amusement, because I was young, dressed in battle fatigues and jacket, holding an obsolete weapon - I would've used it; I had already. "The man at the spaceport said that you could use some help." And he waited while I pondered his offer.

"All right. Show me how good you are," I said, waving my weapon at the entry of the hangar. Inside was a new prototype; he looked at it for a moment, his gaze following the intricate pattern of the circuitry. "Finish it and you're hired. I can't pay you much but as soon as I can, I will. There's a house nearby I'm living in. You can share. And don't think about anything more." It seemed to me that he was concealing an amused smile.

"Fine," he said. "Let's see what I can do."

It took him less than two hours – I would've needed six, probably, assuming I'd succeeded. I'd been struggling with a particularly reluctant component before the man came.

When I was done running tests, I looked at him and held out my hand. "We have a deal," I said.

He only nodded and asked me where he could sleep. He looked so tired that I knew he'd been on his guards for a very long time, like so many, running away from God knows what. "My name's Veran Kor," he said.

He was lying. I nodded. I understood. I'd been on the run myself, when I was barely sixteen, running away from my mother, my father, my name and all that it meant. My family had hired a retired trooper to hunt me – in vain. I'd used a great deal of false names then.

He started to work early on the next day and I just watched him, amazed at his skills.

"I can't pay you enough. Are you sure you want to work here? On Earth, I'm sure…" I saw his eyes. "Sorry. Stupid question."

Six months later we left the hangar for a more modern settlement; I paid him a lot. He had his apartment just above his office. When we worked together, which happened more and more often, he was mostly silent, uncongenial and impatient, but he taught me more than I thought possible, although he never treated me like a student. I respected him and I think he respected me for offering him what he needed: privacy and a place to live safely.

Late one night, I was sitting in my director's office. I'd been invited to some boring local official party and I'd just come back. I wasn't sleepy, so instead of going home I'd gone to my office, worked some more. I was sitting at the circular table we used for meetings and I'd left the door open. I remember that I wore a very tight and long gown – white, incrusted with pearls and false diamonds. Something exotic, provocative and quite impractical; I'd even put on some make-up on my face and bloody-red varnish on my nails; I was looking like all the women in the Virinn family – sophisticated and deceptively agreeable. He was leaving, I think, or just taking a walk – he spent many nights in his office, working on new projects. He stopped at the door and looked at me. An expression passed on his face that I couldn't read. Recognition, maybe.

I looked up and our gazes met. I didn't blink and he didn't either; our gazes were locked in what felt to me like a silent battle. I remembered how my mother talked to her guests and I waved my hand as gracefully as I could. "Why, come in, Veran, and join me."

He hesitated and finally came to sit in front of me. He was wearing, I remember, a black turtleneck and black trousers.. I wondered briefly who he was mourning. "I almost didn't recognise you, Kyla." he said. "You never wear dresses."

"Dresses make me feel uncomfortable. Add high heel shoes and you'll have a fairly good imitation of hell. But the men at the party seemed to think it suited me."

He smiled briefly. "You really look like the heiress of the Virinn family in this garment."

It was meant as a compliment but I couldn't help the shiver. "Do I?"

He raised a quizzical eyebrow and I continued. "Everyone says – the people I meet who knew my mother – that I look a lot like her. She died on Earth when the Rebels invaded the domes. The rumour says she was raped and slaughtered by drunken Deltas after the victory of the Rebellion. The house was burnt down to ashes. A shame, that. I remember it was a beautiful house."

"Rumours aren't always true," he said noncommittally. Warily, maybe.

"My mother," I said, "was the perfect housewife. Cultivated, beautiful, charming and elegant, the perfect ornament to my father's reputation. She had the most wonderful voice and sang beautifully – but only for her guests, never for me. I remember hiding in the stairway to listen to her when I was a little girl. She had no ambition of her own but being a splendid animal parading across endless parties. They say she was singing when they found her, standing on the terrace of her house. She was dressed like I am now, probably, and drinking champagne. I think…" my voice broke for a second and I had to clear my throat. "I think maybe they mistook her for her sister, who'd been a high-ranked officer in the Federation. Who knows? They shot her when they were done with her, then shot my father. I hadn't seen them for almost ten years."

I saw him lean back against the back of the chair and smile. "Ah," he said. "The Virinn family always gave the Alpha circles the most beautiful and clever women."

I blushed more deeply still; I wasn't used to being complimented in this indirect and ambiguous way. "But sometimes dangerous."

"Sometimes, yes."

A shadow passed between us and we let it go. There was a moment when we understood each other perfectly and I seized it. "Who are you?" I asked.

"Does it matter?"

I thought about it. Did it matter? "Probably not, but I'd like to know. Don't you trust me? I've been honest with you."

He smiled and looked away. "I made it a rule, long ago, not to trust anyone, ever."

Yes, I thought, I can understand this. "Does it work?" I asked. He gave me a long serious look. "No. Not really." There was a long silence while he considered if he should trust me. I was surprised that he finally did. "My name is Kerr Avon."

And he waited while I tried to think of something clever to say. I'd suspected it was be him, for obvious reasons. There's no one anywhere who doesn't know about Kerr Avon - a genius, a madman. A traitor, they'd said. A killer. Four years ago, his trial before the Revolutionary Tribunal had been widely broadcast - an example of the fate that awaited those who'd betrayed the Rebellion. Convicted on the charge of high treason for selling the rebel army to the Federation and shooting Roj Blake for good measure. The verdict had been death, of course, by absentia - the former rebel had been impossible to find. Blake, who'd just been elected as the head of the New Republic, presided over the tribunal. I could remember his reaction then, the expression of savage satisfaction on his face. There was a very high price on Kerr Avon's head.

"There is quite a legend around you," I said. He was sitting in front of me like someone who was thinking of running. "I don't care much. The past is dead, and gone."

"Not all of it," he said in the precise, raspy voice that I'd grown accustomed to. "I didn't manage to kill it as completely as I thought. Now if you don't mind," he added, getting up and bowing slightly, "I'll retire."

I watched him leave, fearing that in the morning I'd find him gone. He stayed, though and we didn't ever broach the subject again. I didn't tell anyone who he was and never called him by his name. I burnt the gown I'd been wearing and went back to the trousers and shirts that made me look younger and more boyish. I wasn't interested in men and Avon wasn't interested in humans, so I guess it was fine this way.

Time passed. Kerr Avon had been working for me for a couple of years and my firm was now renowned and prosperous. I was the Earth government's sole supplier for computers; as far as computer security was concerned, my equipment was matchless. I didn't mind who I was working for. I would've worked for the Federation as well; I didn't have any qualms about it. Maybe it was better to work for people who didn’t use torture, mental conditioning and tyranny; it made me feel more comfortable, but for obvious reasons, I didn't have much sympathy for the new government. After four years, it didn't seem to me that they'd achieved that much. And they paid late. "All governments do," my accountant told me with a shrug.

One day I was told that a government representative had stopped on Ursa Prime in the middle of an official travel and wanted to visit our company – I then employed more than a hundred of people. I was wearing worn trousers and a sweater, I was tired; I'd been spending hours trying to retrieve a box of components we needed, without success. I wiped my hands on a towel and groaned.

"No way," I said. "No time for administration bullshit."

A roaring laugh answered me, and I let go of the towel, frozen with surprise. "A refreshing honesty," a voice said, deep and low and amused – but not quite.

I turned to stare at the man standing in the doorway of the warehouse. I had a moment of vertigo, while I stared, transfixed, at this face. "President Blake," I said in what I think was a very small voice. "Sir."

"This is unofficial. Private, Miss Virinn, so you can drop the 'Sir'," he said. "Where's Avon?"

I pride myself on having a lot of self-control but facing this man… It's difficult to explain. I'm an Alpha and Avon was an Alpha and most of the time, maybe all the time, we were dignified and polite, maintaining our Alpha façade. I'm sure people who work with us find us stiff, cold and pedantic. Roj Blake was an Alpha of a very different kind. He belonged to one of the oldest alpha lineage; one of the 500 families on Earth that had rebuilt civilisation at the end of the old calendar, after the Long Wars. His status he didn't have to flaunt; he didn't care. He exuded power and strength and self-confidence and calm and facing him in person I understood what people saw in him. Despite the thin scar that ran across his left eye and his cheekbone, he had a very noble physique, with full lips, expressive eyes and a short beard. His curly hair looked as thick as they did on the pictures I'd seen. He was dressed with in simple, but well tailored clothes, lots of white linen and dark velvet. I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me short.

"Don't bother arguing, miss. I know he works for you. I had a tip from someone who worked here for a short while and recognized him."

Someone I was going to kill as soon as I'd find him. I gave Blake my most charming smile – he didn't smile back. His expression was grim. "Where is Avon, Kyla?" he said, using my given name, bringing tears of anger to my eyes. How did the bastard dare? I was about to give him the answer he deserved when a voice rose behind him.

"I'm here, Blake."

Blake turned around – Avon was standing outside, dressed in black as usual. "I've been looking for you, Avon," Blake said in that rich voice he used to captivate his interlocutors. Avon looked unperturbed and proud and, I noticed, very much alive, more handsome than I'd ever seen him.

"I'm well aware of the fact. You'll forgive me if I didn't come running; the prospect was appalling."

I saw Avon take a step forward and come closer, so close in fact that they almost touched. He was shorter than Blake, and he had to look up to him; his eyes were fathomless and dark. "This is it, then. Are you going to carry out the sentence yourself? That would be appropriate, don't you think? You could shoot me three times and…"

The violence of the blow made Avon stumble, and only Blake's hand around his arm prevented him from falling. From the corner of my eye, I saw that a small crowd had started to gather.

"We should take this… discussion… somewhere more private, gentlemen. My office…"

Blake turned to me as if he'd forgotten about my mere existence and nodded. "Come along," he said, keeping a vice-like grip on Avon's biceps, dragging him along. Avon wiped off the blood from his mouth and followed.

Once we'd reached the office, I suppose I should've left them alone. I went to stand in a corner of the room instead, in the shadows by the door, not wanting to miss a single moment, wanting to be here if Blake tried to hurt Avon again. My loyalty to Avon surprised me; I felt like someone was hurting the brother I'd never had.

Again they were facing each other, Blake's big hand still restraining Avon in the same bruising grip, their gazes locked together. Blake had quite a reputation of being intractable and stern. He was a very hard worker, people said, and a just man. He hadn't condoned the way things had got out of hand after his victory and had made his best to stop the violence. I wondered if he'd known about my mother.

"Why don't you do it, Blake? I'm not in the mood for arguing with you about the past. I was found guilty. Carry on." Avon's voice sounded weary and resigned; not like him at all. I wanted to shake him and tell him to fight for his life.

"Why did you run?" Blake asked. "Why didn't you come to me and explain?"

Avon looked up at Blake and laughed. "Are you joking? At first, on Gauda Prime, I thought you were dead; later you didn't sound like someone who would listen."

Blake shook him like a disobedient child. "I would've listened, damn you!" he roared, "But you barged into my base with an unknown crew, you shot me – three times, Avon – you managed to slip away from the slaughter on Gauda Prime despite the presence of three dozen armed troopers, then you vanished… What do you think I believed?"

From where I was, I could see it. There was a diamond caught in the thickness of Avon's lashes. I think Blake had seen it too, because he was looking uncomfortable.

"Answer me, Avon, for heaven's sake."

The diamond fell on Avon's cheekbone and rolled down to his chin, followed by another one. He tried to blink them away, and failed. Blake let go of him, shoving him against the wall.

"Come on, Avon!"

"I carried your revolution for two years, risking my life on a regular basis. I lost everything because of you. I .." I saw him close his mouth on something he refused to say. "I won't justify myself before you, Blake. Your fanatics can think whatever they want."

Blake took a step back and for a second I thought he was going to hit Avon again. "Did you betray my base, my men and me to the Federation, Avon?"

Avon seemed to recoil in disgust. "The simple fact that you have to ask…"

"Yes or no, Avon."

Another silence and Avon shook his head. "No. Of course not."

Blake nodded. "Fine. Since Vila tells the same story, I will believe you."

"Vila's alive?" Avon said looking baffled. "I thought…"

"He's alive. He sent me a message last year about you. It's why I eventually came."

I saw Avon lean back against the wall. He was very pale and looked like he barely dared breathing.

"But there's still the matter of the shooting," Blake said. "I find it hard to just let it go." Turning his head, he saw me and frowned. "Get out, Virinn."

"Avon works for me. I won't let you…"

"It's all right, Kyla. I'll be fine," Avon said, but I shook my head stubbornly.

For a bulky man, Blake could move very fast; he closed on me and pushed me to the door unceremoniously. "Out of here. And don't come back until I say so." The authority in his voice left no place for discussion. I obeyed.

*********************************

I don't know how long I waited outside. I'd sent everyone home, and I stood there, my heart beating too fast, pricking up my ears, and not hearing anything. No shouting, no shotgun. I supposed it was a good sign, although I was quite sure that these two men were perfectly able to maul each other to death soundlessly.

When they walked out, Avon gave me a wry look and a lopsided smile. I breathed deeply.

"Of course," Blake was saying, "the charges will lapse and I'll have the verdict quashed. You are, after all, as much a hero of the Revolution as I am, as reluctant to admit it as you are."

Avon stopped and Blake turned to face him. "Does that mean… forgiveness?"

I was surprised that the question was still pending – what had they been talking about all this time? I saw Blake raise his hand as for a caress, I saw Avon close his eyes to welcome it – but the hand fell back and Blake sighed. "I'm trying to do the right thing, Avon, that's all."

Ah, but Avon was looking down now, with the strangest expression on his face.

"I have to go. My ship is waiting in orbit; I'm going to Albian to give them the freedom they ask for," Blake said, his voice the caress he hadn't quite given a moment ago.

"The fearless leader, bringing freedom and wealth to his people," Avon said, with unexpected fondness. "I wish you luck, Blake. It's not going to be easy."

I thought they would hug, or shake hands, or anything but they just stood there for a long moment, facing each other, still very close and eventually Blake turned away and left without a backward glance. Avon watched him leave and looked at me. "I think I won't go back to work today, if you don't mind."

I didn't see him until the next day and we didn't talk about Blake or the Revolution or anything. He behaved like he had before, no more, no less.

Blake kept his word; Avon's name was cleared of any accusation and joined Blake's and Vila's and others' in the Pantheon of the fearless revolutionaries – something Avon seemed to loathe enormously. He didn't comment and if someone started talking about it, he would just leave.

You wonder if Avon saw Blake again? I have no idea, honestly. Avon took regular trips to Earth and elsewhere to promote our equipment, sign contracts, so it's possible. He certainly never talked about it, if he did.

All I know is that when Blake died, four years ago, struck to death by a heart attack in the middle of a speech, Avon followed, like he always had. Five weeks later he died in his sleep; there didn't seem to be any medical cause to his death. I cried a lot; to me it was like losing the last, and beloved, member of my family.

Since then, I have to say that business hasn't been that much fun and I had thoughts of retiring, finding myself a place to leave in peace, maybe someone to love, but in the end, I know that I'll die behind my desk, eventually, doing my job like any woman in the Virinn family.


End file.
